


Memory 3: Brothers

by TK_29



Category: The Old Monster of The Ruins (TOMR), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood and Violence, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-09 23:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20125372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_29/pseuds/TK_29
Summary: Before the war, monsters and humans enjoyed a somewhat limited level of "cooperation". Their exchange of goods was not infrequently bathed in the tears and dust of one another's kind. Within the entrails of an underground catacomb, two brothers lay imprisoned, slaves to their human overlords to be used as gladiators for the entertainment of their patrons. But change is in the air, and not too far from their prison, a young runaway boss monster flees for his life.





	Memory 3: Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> Done as an art trade with KnKing on Tumblr, a spin-off story about his AU "The Old Monster of the Ruins" (TOMR). Written on a smartphone so typos are expected. If you spot any let me know discreetly, please. Thank you for reading!

The creaking of chains and clashing of swords no longer woke Ömen from his meager slumber. Now the cacophony seemed to him more like a distant whisper, white noise behind the cold stone cell in which he lay. Truthfully, he no longer slept either, the constant rush of life and death kept him from the rest he so desperately craved. There seemed to be no yesterday nor tomorrow. Sunlight seemed like a dream from ages forgotten, the pleasant green of foliage and fields was all but nonexistent. All that remained was that dreadful crimson of blood that stained his fur. He'd seen so many shades of red, from all different kinds of living creatures. Occasionally, he would see his own, for a brief period of time, that is before all would go dark and went light returned, all he saw was the blood of another. 

"Shaa..." he whispered under labored breath, after every finishing move, after every nightmare, after every tear. 

On another equally cold and dark cell, his lesser half sat in near-ethereal meditation. Though he saw not with his eyes, he saw through his brother's. And with every whisper of his, he'd always repeat: 

"It's not your fault." 

He saw through the shadows of his prison the toll which their sentence bore on his brother. He'd see him walk through the gallery as crowds hollered in excitement. He'd see the speckles of spit and sweat that dotted the arena as his brother performed his dance macabre of survival. He'd see the large puddles under the lesser opponents, and lastly, he'd see the puddles under his brother's cell after every fight, though this puddle was clear and crystalline.   
He grew unsettled, however, the puddles had become smaller and smaller, the whispers fainter and less emotional. Shaa knew Ömen's rope was coming to an end, it was only a matter of time until all that remained of his other half was an animalistic and feral beast, devoid of emotion. 

Another fight. This one was over before it even began. A small human, an undisciplined slave most likely. The sword he held was bigger than him. Ömen ended him swiftly, the stands hollered and begged for more. He must have lashed back at his captors, for once it all ended, they fastened the polar bear-like monster's restraints tighter. They shared in their pain, and once more Ömen wept in his cell. 

"Shaa..." 

"It's not your fault." 

But beyond the arena's domed enclosure Shaa felt something different in the air. For what he lacked in vision and strength he more than made up for in sensorial dexterity. He could sense the telltale signs of unrest and chaos beyond: he saw the faint glimmer of embers and the acrid scent of another's tears. It was unlike the sweat of the fighters or the spit from the spectators. It   
seemed more visceral, more desperate, more real. Perhaps if the world beyond their walls crumbled around them, there was hope, but at best, this seemed like a farfetched proposition. He talked to his brother through their shared spiritual connection. 

"I sense change in the air." He "whispered", in his monk-like voice. 

"Shaa..." Ömen replied, distant as ever. 

"There is a war, I believe." 

"Shaa..." 

"Have hope my brother, it's not your fault. When this is all over I promise you, thou shall never see a speck of blood again." 

There was a pause this time, Ömen replied not to his brother. The silence that reigned in the metaphysical realm through which they communicated seemed louder to both than the most desperate of cries of a dying gladiator. The polar bear feared for the worst, perhaps it was already too late. If that were the case, then an eternity in this hole seemed all but certain. 

But then, for the first time in what may very well have been weeks or months, the gladiator bear mustered a reply beyond uttering his brother's name: 

"They will kill you." 

"I have hope, brother." 

"I don't." 

"Please, I beg you Ömen. Stay determined." 

The grumbles and protests of the crowd echoed through the halls and corridors as they dispersed, for what they assumed was the end of the fights for the day, nighttime surely. Strangely, the usual detachment of guards around their cells increased, and though all Ömen could do was scowl and growl at his most detested of enemies, Shaa sensed something within them. They spoke not, but their souls betrayed their bodies. They were uneasy, restless. It was as cold as a winter's night in their cells, but yet he felt a single bead of sweat trickle down from one of the human's foreheads. He was right. 

There was a war. 

\--- 

Full moon, a nightcrawler's worst foe. A small white bundle of fur dashed from umbra to umbra, like a ghoul of the night, careful to minimize his time in the light. He was lead by the whispers of the plants around him, they'd tell him whether a spot was adequate or not without uttering a single word. Asgore knew the humans could not find him in such pitch black darkness, but they had dogs for that. He could not stop, even if he was breathless and exhausted. He still smelled the charred wood of the forest, his feet and hands were still blackened with soot. Yet he dashed from shadow to shadow, avoiding the faint light that peeked through the canopy above. The skin on his back ached incessantly, the herbs he'd been able to muster after a short respite were starting to wear off. He needed shelter. 

Shelter... How could this word have crossed his mind? He knew not of such a thing. Perhaps the last time he'd heard that word was when his parents still possessed him. He could not remember when that was. Now that monsters and humans had ruptured their pact of mutual "cooperation", shelter seemed as unlikely as peace between the warring races. This distraction in thoughts bit at him, as he tripped on the roots of a pine tree and dove into the dirt, drenching what little remained of his burlap smock in mud.   
As he raised his bruised snout up from the muck he caught sight of a light slithering between the labyrinth of trees of the woods around him. Trying to remember which was the "Song of the Bowing Tree" he whistled a faint tune and the two small saplings that obstructed his view bent out of his line of sight, revealing a large, seemingly empty oval brick structure just beyond a clearing in the woods. Sconces burned feverishly outside. 

Burning... 

Fire. 

He shut his eyes closed in desperation, he winced at the aching in his back. 

"Éteignez le feu... Éteignez le feu..." he whimpered. His supplication was answered by the distanting barking of a hound. 

This would have to do, he had no choice. He bit down on his lips and dashed as fast as he could. He soon cleared the woods and was now under the full might of the moon's beams. If he was seen now, it was all but over. The main entrance was unguarded, but the sconces shone blindingly bright. 

He grew weak at the knees, he would trip once more. The end, so long. But he had to keep going, he had to! He felt a fire of his own within him, a burning that ached not, an invisible force that filled him with hope, strength. A will to live, determination. The bronze light cast by the burning revealed a figment of green within the nooks of a few loose bricks. 

"Queues de lion!" He thought. 

Once more he shut his eyes. How did that tune go? What was the melody? He materialized a small panpipe between his small paws and with the last of his breath he whistled a few melancholic chords. "The song of the dancing vine". 

The green figment, as if by supernatural force, crept and twisted toward the lights and violently snapped their supports. As they fell down to the muddy earth, their remnants of fuel sprayed harmless sparks around the archway. Asgore jumped through the fireworks before him and hurled into the darkness. 

The entrance led to his left into a torch lit opening and to his right down into a catacomb, meekly lit by the azure hue of a tuft of veilleuses that outcropped from the roof. He heard no noise to his left, but once more the fire struck despair in the heart of the young monster, however, down in the catacombs, he heard voices. Coarse, unpleasant voices. He then remembered a trick he'd learned not too long ago. Standing at the tip of his small toes he plucked two blossoms of the whispering blue flower and, as silently as he could, tiptoed down the spiraling rock shaft. 

He was quick to notice, however, that this "shelter" he'd found looked uncannily similar to the one they'd kept him in, once his parents had so generously handed him over to a human warlord. 

He could not remember their faces. 

He hoped he'd made the right choice coming here. 

\--- 

"How ghastly are they? I heard 'bout their black eyes or whatever." The brute spoke in a raspy voice, his companion was just about as unsightly in appearance as he was. 

"So I'm told, the bastards can rip a man in half before he even moves a muscle." 

"So what? Our little meatball over here can do just as well in the arena. You see what he did to that slave of Vlad's?" He pointed to the hunched, catatonic bear. 

"Yeah, yeah, but these are worse. I heard they can do that, but like, forty times more intensely. They grow extra limbs and shit, fire in their hands, all sorts of ludicrous shit." The man adjusted his armor with unease, jingling of cold steel reverbing in the catacombs. 

"Yeah right, but we're still kickin' their asses right?" 

"You betcha." he cackled. 

The words passed through Ömen ear's like dull air, just another amalgam of sounds that meant naught for him. The last few strains of his conscious mind were now buried deep within his skull. He tried to move in the darkness, but it was a waking nightmare. Sluggish in his movement towards consciousness, crawling through a black sludge of affliction. His time was running out, "Ömen" would soon be nothing but a distant whisper in the wind, a name forsaken for a beast of war. While a battle for his soul raged in his spirit, his exterior was still that of detachment, he'd been tamed at last. The blood on his fur had dried out. Two more brutish men patrolled up and down the corridor in front of his, the creases on their brows were accentuated, their scowls were sterner. Word of battles and razings had reached them through the jesters in the stands. 

"You think they've come this far already, Pavel?" The guard continued. 

"Hell no! The closest monster is probably hundreds of thousands of yards away. Heh, not counting these two little teddies here with us." 

"Hah, true! Even still, I'd rather be up there than down here. At least there I can see 'em coming and slice 'em and dice 'em. You'd think these rich fucks would at least give us some stuff to light this cold hell up..." 

The acoustics of the place were such that any word spoken through the maze of rock and steel could be heard throughout the complex, so when these words reached Shaa's own ears his runic tattoos glowed with ancient purpose. He was right after all, conflict engulfed the land, they could possibly muster an escape in the ensuing chaos. That glimmer of hope that shone in what remained of his furry runes gave him just the spark of energy enough to once more pan out their enclosure in his psyche. Had the humans been more diligent in their task of removing said runes, this task would have been all but impossible. He counted 32 men, all armed. Last time he'd checked it'd been 17... But there was something else, something small. He felt a heartbeat. It was intense, pure. It crept around the dark with innocent intent, like a lost fawn looking for her mother. 

As unlikely as it might have been, this seemed like that spark of hope he'd held for so long; a dying ember locked inside a glass jar, rejuvenated. It was a monster, a young one. His soul was strong, it danced in the dark of metaphysical space with blinding white light: a wisp of juvenile power. A boss monster? 

"Ömen." He whispered through the ether. 

"Shaa..." a nearly whimperish reply came through. Ömen was but a hair away from being entirely lost. 

"Someone is here, one of us." 

"Shaa..." 

"He's a boss monster, brother." 

Once more, silence. In the gladiator-bear's mind, he made way through the sludge of affliction, he grasped his body and mind just enough to muster another coherent response: 

"Can he free us?" 

"Perhaps, he's small. Real small, but I think-" 

Their ethereal exchange was abruptly shattered by a desperate howl from the bowels of the dark. 

"HEEELP MEEE!!!" a desperate holler, high pitched. Like a child's. A monster child's. 

"ALAAAARM!!!" One of the guards yelled. 

"SOUND THE BELL!" 

And in a desperate frenzy, the company of men dashed to the source of the sound, guards abandoning their posts by the cages. The ear-shattering ringing of a large church bell filled the air, such that the unsheathing of swords and clatter of sabatons dwarfed in comparison. 

And as suddenly as it sparked, that ember of hope within Shaa waned. From a near blazing fire it died down to a mere atom of light. Their chance, it seems, was gone as unexpectedly as it'd made itself known. 

Ömen lifted his pupils to observe the shadows of bronze and grey dash beyond the wrought iron bars that imprisoned him. The sludge engulfed him more, he became more distant from himself, he sank, sight became weaker... So much for "hope", whatever their little helper was, he or she'd been found. There would be nothing left of them to feed even the hounds... He was slipping away... So long, you little... 

But suddenly from the dark, once all the men had all made their way down the darkest chambers of the catacombs, two small lights appeared in the corner of his eye. Amber and azure. He could not believe he still recalled what those colors looked like. The lights blinked, and he saw the reflection of his very own emerald pupils. 

A slithering sound, like a venomous serpent, crept from under the ground, between the eroded boulders beneath him. It stopped short of him. A blue sprout blossomed with near-blinding blue light, and like a ghost, the flower whispered to him: 

"Are you a friend?" 

Those words woke him from a nightmare that seemed to have lasted for countless months. The black sludge receded, he regained sight and control, he was Ömen once more. Under normal circumstances he would have answered "fuck off" to such a playfully childish question, but he rose his eyes from the blossom, and from the delicate hue it set off, he saw just beyond the bars a small bundle of white fur behind the amber and azure eyes. A monster. A boss monster. 

As if by instinct, he whispered back to the flower: 

"Yes, I'm a friend... How did you do that?" 

It quickly shut closed and burrowed itself back under the rocks, before returning to his progenitor. As it blossomed again, he could see the little thing's features a little better. Short hair, short horns, pale white skin, he could not be more than 7 years old, maybe less. Ömen saw him whisper something into it, and once more it burrowed and resurfaced before him. 

"I'll tell you later. I think I can free you." 

His heart shot ablaze with those words. A lust for vengeance boiled in his blood, his muscles swelled with purpose. The urge to obliterate all that surrounded him blistered in his mind, but his newfound purpose was sufficient, for the time being, to calm him down. Shaa had to be freed first. Ömen's cell was rigged with bells and whistles, if he broke out first, his other half was as good as dead. With that out of the way, nothing could possibly stop them. Freedom was all but certain. If his new little "friend" survived. 

He explained this to his little saviour. 

"Do you know where he is?" The youngling asked through the whispering blossom. 

"No. But he's the only other monster in this catacomb. Everyone else is... Gone. You'll find him. His eyes can glow in the dark." 

The child listened carefully, before replying with one last message: 

"Cool!" 

And with such an erudite reply, the flower receded one last time and the little goblin dashed through the dark, and as he did, another howl echoed, coming from the complete opposite direction he came from.   
The ember flared up again, stronger than ever. Shaa eagerly awaited their new friend. 

Ömen clenched his paws in anticipation. 

\--- 

Asgore raced through the cold hallways and corridors, searching frantically for the white bear with glow-in-the-dark eyes. His back still ached, his stamina ran short, but he had to help his new friends! The big bear told him he was so, none before had openly declared themselves as his friend. Once more, he wondered where he remembered that word from. No matter, no distractions he kept dashing. The deep hollers of frustration from the guards shook the still air, they'd found nothing once more. They were sure to return to their starting positions soon. 

Just as that thought crossed his frantic mind, a faint glow made itself known around the corner. It pulsed ever so slightly, before waning. This must be it. With one last dash, he rounded the bend and before him lay his other new friend: strapped by his neck, the bear's pure blue eyes met his own before he'd finished crossing over. The few remnants of intricate patterns on his fur gave off a mystical glow, faintly illuminating a warm smile. Asgore couldn't contain himself: 

"Cool! Err... I mean, howdy!" 

"You must be our little bard friend. That was a nice trick with the veilleuses." Those words snapped Asgore to attention almost immediately. 

"How did you know that?" He recoiled. 

"I'll tell you later." He snickered "Above me on the corner of the cell, there is a leak through the rocks. I am not sure, but there might be some vines tucked into the stone." His voice was serene, so serene in fact, that had they been uttered anywhere else, one might not have guessed it came from someone shackled to a wall. 

The polar bear was indeed right, he could sense the whisper of a creeping vine cowered in the nook. But it was so far deep, he'd never attempted to retrieve something so far out of sight. Moreover, he did not know which song he'd play to summon it from its enclave. The guards hollered once more, they heard their little exchange. They had not much time. The immediacy was palpable. 

"I-I don't know how to get them!" He stuttered, as the clanking of sabatons and swords encroached on him from both sides. 

"Use 'the song of the dancing vine' to bring it closer! Quickly!" 

"But that won't be enough! Your chains look hard! The vines can only push and pull!" 

"You will have to improvise, my little bard friend!" 

The yelling and clanking drew closer now, they could make out words now: 

"Monsters!" 

"Kill them!" 

"Where's the company commander?!" 

The little boss monster felt that same desperation now that he'd had in the forest. Craning his head looking for his pursuers, the images and sounds engraved in his mind returned to him. He remembered the roar of the blaze, the screams of soldiers, the fire seemed to surround him once more. There was no way! He knew not what to harmonize! The walls closed in, doom awaited him, his back winced once more. He started slipping. The corner of his irises became black as tar. 

"What's your name?" The serene words woke him from his delirium. 

"As... Asgore." He whimpered back. 

"I believe in you Asgore. I have hope." 

The tar in his eyes retreated, and with it the affliction of his chase disappeared. He felt that inner fire roaring once more. Hope and a will to live. Determination. He heard the quiet bubbling of the water leak above through the ruckus of his foes approaching, and once more like outside, he willed a small panpipe to existence before his miniature monster paws. Putting the instrument to his mouth, once more he sang that melancholic melody, the wordless chant calling his creeping friend from his burrow of stone. 

The vine crackled as it twisted and bent along the surface of the wall, an unsettling sight for one to see unprepared. But alas, no one was there to see. Shaa had not the gift of vision and Asgore, well, he need not look to know where the vine was. As the vegetation crept towards Shaa's restraints new sprouts and roots tangled around the rock, gripping firmly to aid their progenitor's purpose. 

"KILL THEM!!!" 

"AAAAGHHHH!!!" 

They had not but 20 seconds left. 

"I believe in you Asgore." 

A good bard, so it's said, is not the one who sticks to well-known harmonies unwaveringly. It is the one who can dance and play with the song that is a true bard. Asgore discovered that very moment he was one such bard, as with sudden vigor, the melancholy of his song was spliced with fast, foreboding chords. The vine obliged to his song, and as it did, in wrapped itself around the chain connected to Shaa's neck. The final chord is the most important one, as well. 

With a final, ear-lifting and soul-searing blow on his pipes, the vines evoked their visceral primordial power. Their supports dug into the cold rock as, like a photosynthesizing anaconda, the vine tightened itself around the bronze chains, shattering them with an ear-splitting bang. 

It was not an iota of a second before, once mote through the ether, Shaa announced to his greater half: 

"I am free." 

Years of torture, penance, violence and suffering weighed down on Ömen. But alas, his time had finally arrived. Retribution was his, the invisible chains that kept him from unleashing his own personal armageddon vaporized. Once more, his heart raced, his blood boiled, his muscles swole and that feverish desire for vengeance consumed him whole. 

"THE POLAR BEAR IS LOOSE!!" A desperate voice cried in the dark. 

"WHAT!?" A second voice replied, stricken with fear like a cornered animal.   
The voice was just beyond the bar's in Ömen's cage. It was Pavel. The vilest of all his captors. He'd driven a spear through his side when the bear refused to execute a child warrior. Now his time had come, the gladiator-bear seeked not merely justice, his fight was purely for revenge. 

He'd roar in the arena as he was commanded by his captors, but he only did so for the sake of Shaa, not for the sake of entertainment. He'd always held back, but now... His ear-shattering roar split the rock on the ceiling above him and rose the fur on his back, with one charge he'd demolished the bars beyond and swiftly crushed Pavel on the wall, a gut-wrenching noise followed by a dash of that dark crimson in Ömen's eyes. 

He only realized how mistaken he was in fuelling his escape on revenge, when the red in his eyes gave way to black; his level of violence peaking at the highest he'd ever been. A streak of desperation darted in Ömen's eyes but it was too late, he'd crossed over into near feral rage. Perhaps it was better that he did not see for the duration of his rampage, for if he did... 

He would have seen more crimson than ever before in his life.


End file.
